


The Big Push

by MrProphet



Category: Quake Wars
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 18:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10702311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrProphet/pseuds/MrProphet





	1. Flight of the Bumblebee

“Private Jorge Maria Villalobos Rodriguez?” the officer asked.

“Yes, sir!” The young man snapped off a smart salute.

“Time for that later,” the officer assured him. “I need a tech-op, you’re qualified. You speak Spanish?”

“Of course.”

The officer nodded once and switched quickly to that language. “And can you shoot that thing from a moving vehicle?” He pointed at the N38 slung across the younger man’s back.

Rodriguez glanced back at the sniper rifle. “Not especially well.”

“I like an honest man,” the officer declared. “Bumblebee-2; portside gunnery seat.”

The Bumblebee – one of four transport lifts on the landing ground – was already loaded and mostly crewed. A fierce bird of prey was painted on the prow. As they walked up, the pilot, a lean blonde in an engineer’s fatigues, was checking the links on the primary fan.

“Captain Stanhope!” she called. “She’s good to go. Let’s try not to break her this time; please.”

Stanhope laughed. “We’ll do our best, but you’ll need to ask the Strogg to be sure. Corporal Lamia Ruiz, this is Private Jorge Maria Villalobos Rodriquez.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I figure we can just call him Roddy until we work out something else. Roddy; Ruiz answers to Ruiz and, if you live long enough to earn it, Snake. Up you get and I’ll make the rest of the introductions; and don’t forget your chute.”

“No, sir.”

“Get us in the air as soon as we’re secure, Snake; form up with the convoy.”

“Sir.”

Stanhope sprang up into the starboard jump seat and motioned for Rodriguez to take the port gunnery position. The young soldier stowed his rifle, strapped himself into the seat-back chute and checked the action on the mounted minigun. 

The other two seats were occupied by a ridiculously large Filipino and a leathery-skinned medic who could not have been giving away more than a few pounds to her squadmate.

“Right,” Stanhope said. “Roddy, this is Lieutenant Ana Esperanza. Call her Doc, call her Ma’am…”

“Call me when your guts are hanging on a Strogg’s battle spikes,” Esperanza finished, freeing and returning the safety catch on her own minigun.

The Bumblebee’s lift-fans whined into life and the four soldiers strapped on their helmets. Built-in baffles muffled the engine noise, integral communicators allowed them to speak, and HUD eyepieces provided accurate tactical information. Once the team’s radio link was established and Rodriguez was on the right frequency, Stanhope finished the introductions. “Sergeant Pito Chagan, aka Dragon. You’ll soon come to love each other like brothers. That or he’ll kill you.”

“Glad to have you aboard, Roddy,” the big man said affably. He checked his rocket launcher and stowed it securely.

“I hope you last longer than the last one,” Esperanza huffed. “Way he got holed I don’t know why I bothered patching him up.”

“You’ll have to forgive Doc; she resents us getting shot as an affront to her profession. I’ve tried asking the Strogg not to shoot at us, but it seems this one’s on us.”

“I’ll, uh… I’ll do my best, sir,” Rodriguez agreed uncertainly.

Chagan laughed. “You’ll get used to us soon enough,” he assured Roriguez. “Last more’n a few days and we’ll be like family.”

“Chagan here is my strong right hand; Doc’s my left. Figure that makes you the eyes and Ruiz the legs of this operation.”

“And he’s the mouth,” Doc muttered. 

“Call me what you like, in private, but in the mess I’m Captain Stanhope and on channel you call me Milord; not my choice,” he added quickly. “Okay, listen up, Raptors.” He toggled his radio to open channel to address the complete convoy; four Bumblebees and three Anansi gunships. “Scythe company is moving in to establish a primary LZ for Operation Orion. 

“We approach the target through the canyon; Spider flight, watch our backs. We should be in radar cover the whole way, but without manoeuvring room we’ll be sitting ducks for attack from above. On arrival we establish a perimeter and hold for primary CP deployment. We need to do this quick and clean, so keep it tight and work with the other teams. No solo runs. Squad leaders have individual assignments. Milord out.” He switched back to squad comms.

“Sorry to break you in on-mission, Roddy,” he said, “but this is now or never, and like I said, we  _need_  our tech-op. We’re going to need radar cover and a forward spotter.”

“You got it,” Rodriguez assured him.

“ _Is this it, sir?_  Ruiz asked. “ _Operation Orion; is it… Quake?_ ”

Stanhope smiled grimly. “All I can tell you is that this is logged in the official record as H-Hour on D-Day. This is just one of nine spearheads, each leading an assault in force by an entire GDF regiment.”

“The big push,” Rodriguez gasped.

“ _A_  big push, kid,” Esperanza replied. “It’s not the first; won’t be the last.”

“And what is… Quake?”

“Quake’s a rumour, kid,” Chagan replied. “The great counterstrike. Nice idea, but it don’t pay to think too far ahead. Just focus on what we got to do right here and right now. Watch the sky,” he added. “Milord’s right; it’s gonna get pretty tight in here and we won’t last long if the Charnels get any of their damned Tormentors in the air above us.”

“ _They say command is outfitting a mission,_ ” Ruiz went on. “ _A full brigade of elite troops, heavily armed and trained for orbital insertion. They’re building a ship to carry them, using the tech we’ve been scavenging from Strogg landing sites and downed assault carriers for years._ ”

“That’s enough, Snake,” Stanhope warned. “Dragon’s right; stick to what we’re doing here and now.” 

“Yeah; let’s not drift into the realms of fantasy,” Esperanza warned.

“ _You’re a real ray of sunshine, Doc._ ”

Stanhope switched to open channel. “Tech-ops, get your jammers up and running; we’re going dark. Pilots, you are eyes only, so take it easy. Half speed ahead and mind the tail. Roddy,” he finished.

“On it, Milord,” Rodriguez agreed. His stealth-suit’s radar jammer was ordinarily not used in vehicles for the simple reason that it interfered with automated guidance and proximity detectors, but he obeyed the captain without question. The other Bumblebees vanished from his tactical display and the images of the three Anansis flickered.

Something moved in the corner of Roddy’s vision. He tracked and focused and felt a chill in his blood. “Icarus!” he hissed.

“He’s seen us,” Chagan growled as the tiny, one-man flyer changed direction.

“Spider-1, eight o’clock!” Stanhope snapped. “Spiders-2 and -3, break off and cover. Orion base-3, launch Scorpion flight and get our support in the air; Scythe company, ahead three-quarters and keep it tight. All weapons free.”

Esperanza and Rodriguez released the safeties on the miniguns and Chagan slid a rocket pack into the back of his launcher.

“ _Spider-2 to Scythe; we got three Tormentors and six Icarus inbound. Engaging hostiles._ ”

“Acknowledged, Spider-2,” Stanhope agreed. “Do not close until Scorpion flight arrives; ETA three minutes.”

“ _Roger that._ ”

“ _Five hundred metres to target and closing,_ ” Ruiz reported.

“Stand by for standard deployment, Scythe,” Stanhope ordered. He switched back to squad comms. “Snake; set the Bumblebee down in light cover just clear of the canyon and set perimeter defences. Jotun heavy transports are en route with our hardware so let’s give them somewhere to put it. Dragon; those Tormentors are going to give us hell until we get the perimeter established. I want Snake covered.”

Chagan patted his launcher. “On it, sir.”

“Roddy; Tag a secure location for a radar post and then get into the rocks behind us. If any of those Icarus pilots start coming up on us, I want to know before I find a strocket in my pocket.”

“Sir.”

“Doc, you’re with me. We need to establish a beacon uplink for the CP drop.”

“Got it.”

The Bumblebees came out of the canyon. Up ahead, something shone in the bright desert sunlight, blazing like a star.

“ _What in God’s name is that?_ ” Ruiz demanded.

“That is Orion’s Bow,” Stanhope replied. “The Strogg black hole generator; the gateway to Stroggos. Ladies, gentlemen; welcome to payback.”


	2. Fear and Terror

A flight of nine Gyrfalcon transport shuttles tore across the thin atmosphere of Mars in loose formation. Aboard the Gyrfalcon designated Terror-3, Corporal Lamia Ruiz eased the controls forward.

“Careful, Snake,” Sergeant Pito Chagan warned. “You’re picking up a lot of atmospheric chop.”

“It’s only Mars, Dragon,” Snake laughed. “Besides, better that than Strogg anti air. Briefing said to keep low.”

“If they wanted us this low,” Private Rodriguez assured her, “they’d have given us a tank.”

“Calm down, children,” Lieutenant Ana Esperanza insisted. “We’re likely to hit EMP as we come down, Snake; can you maintain this orbital insertion profile on manual?”

“Ma’am, I’m insulted that you feel the need to ask.”

“Easy,” Captain Stanhope said softly. “Don’t get cocky, Snake; just get us down in one piece.”

Snake began to quip, but a flashing light on her panel drew her attention. “Roddy, are you…?”

“Massive energy discharge from the target, Milord,” Rodriguez reported. “Dear God; they’ve fired the Big Gun.”

“What?” Esperanza was horrified.

“They can’t have a line on Earth yet,” Stanhope argued.

“It’s Deimos, Milord. They’ve fired on Terror Base. The landing field… Control… It’s all gone.”

Milord closed his eyes for a moment and togged the ship-to-ship radio. “This is Terror-3,” he said with forced calm. “Go dark; go dark now. Snake…”

Snake was already working, shutting down the powered systems of the Gyrfalcon and triggering the explosive bolts that blew clear the shield over the viewscreen. Through the reinforced plexiglass, they saw two Gyrfalcons slew out of control as Strogg EMP cooked their guidance systems. A third was caught by one of the crippled shuttled and both went down in flames.

The remaining six flew on, shaking wildly as their manual controls struggled with the turbulence.

“Well, they know we’re coming,” Stanhope noted. “Snake; get us down. Then get ready for Hell.”


	3. Desperate Times

"Don't look now, but there's a group of blips incoming," Rodriguez murmured. "Maybe a dozen individual signals; metal, but nothing big enough to be a tank or commander."

Captain Stanhope sat up with a sigh and cut in the channel. "Terror company, stand to," he ordered. "Roddy; do you have a visual?"

Thirty feet above, Rodriguez scanned the desolate landscape; weathered outcrops of rock broken by jagged spurs of Strogg architecture. Figures moved in the shadows of a spire and Rodriguez switched from his binoculars to the Starlite scope on his rifle.

"Ten... No, twelve Strogg troopers," he reported. "Two brutes."

Below, the remains of Terror company took position on a sheltering ridge, readying their weapons. They made an even dozen; two squads and a couple of spares, one of them a medic which was a small mercy.

"Hold fire," Stanhope ordered. "Make your shots count, people; we've got about enough ammunition for a mercy circle, so take them at certain kill range only. Snake; stop fiddling with that thing and get on the firing line."

Sergeant Ruiz stayed at her work a moment more before hurrying up. "Sorry, Milord, but I got a little something for you." She held up a Strogg lacerator which she seemed to have subjected to impromptu field surgery.

"You made that thing work?" Lieutenant Esperanza was astonished.

"I can make all of them work," the engineer assured her. "Trigger's easy enough once you bypass the biometrics. Just this one for now, but it's a sweet piece; accurized and scoped. It just needs a little practice."

"So... practice," Stanhope invited. "We're about to have plenty of targets."

"Two hundred metres and closing," Sergeant Pito Chagan warned, setting his eye carefully to the sights of his GPMG.  
  
"Make them count," Stanhope repeated. "Ready, and..."  
  
A distant, cacophanous cry echoed across the landscape.  
  
"These are the armies of the night," Stanhope muttered.  
  
"Are you going strange, Milord?" Esperanza asked.  
  
"It's a cultural reference," Stanhope replied.  
  
The cry came again.  
  
Stanhope sighed. "Terror company; come out to pla-ay," he chuckled. "Let 'em have it!"


	4. Extremis

“And mark!” Chagan snapped closed the circuit panel on the HE charge. He stepped back from the giant plasma reactor and Ruiz took his place, slapping a mine into place and setting the proximity fuse.

“How're we doing down there?” Stanhope asked, touching a finger to his helmet where it housed his earpiece.

“Well, we're not dead, Milord,” Rodriguez replied, a steady chatter of automatic fire stuttering over the radio channel behind his voice. “But we've lost Zulu squad and the path is compromised. Getting back to the slipgate is going to be... challenging.”

“Define challenging?”

A shotgun boomed in the background. “What's seven feet tall, dresses like Snake off duty and has a rocket launcher welded to her arm?” Esperanza asked.

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

The channel cut out for a moment in a burst of static.

“Not rhetorical,” Stanhope sighed. “Snake; alternatives? Doc, Roddy; you still there?”

“Die you metal bondage bitch!” Esperanza screamed.

Snake glanced up briefly from her PDA. “I am going to have serious words about what the Lieutenant thinks I wear off duty.”

“We're, uh... still not dead,” Rodriguez confirmed, “but seriously, there are some real question marks over the threat assessment on this mission.”

“If the Strogg have this kind of crap on tap I'd hate to be part of the Quake mission,” Esperanza panted. “Get Snake down here; we need to seal this door tight.”

“Got it!” Snake snapped. “We need to go the other way.”

“Negative, Doc; fall back now. Keep your backs covered, but do not use grenades unless...”

This time, the explosions were clearly audible without the channel, echoing down the corridors.

“Never mind,” Stanhope sighed. “For a medic, that woman sure likes her explosives.”

Snake had run across to fix mines on the walls of the corridor and her PDA bleeped on her belt. “Oh dear.”

“Snake?”

“Pressure loss,” Ruiz replied.

Boots clattered on the deck plates. Chagan and Stanhope lifted their weapons as Rodriguez staggered around the corner with Esperanza hanging around his shoulders and bleeding.

"Doc!” Stanhope snapped. “You're not supposed to get cut up; you're always having a go at us for it.”

“No-one's perfect, sir.”

“Get inside,” Stanhope sighed. “Seal it up, Snake.”

“On it.”

As Ruiz cut into the biomechanical relays to seal the door of the engine chamber, Rodriguez set Esperanza down against the wall so that Chagan could patch her up with her own medkit.

“Is this shrapnel from your own frag grenade?” Chagan asked.

“I am never going to live this down,” Esperanza muttered.

“Roddy; I need your radar jammer up.”

Rodriguez frowned. “But sir, on this ship there are so many scanners they'll be able to zero the centre of the interference.”

“Set it up, leave it here; I don't want them to know which way we're going. Although, Snake, I would like to know.”

“Port stern,” Ruiz replied. “Deployment bay.”

“Deployment?” Rodriquez asked. “As in Strogg deployment? As in, plunging out of the sky  _whilst on fire_!”

Snake finished running a line of solder between the doors to seal the bay against the pressure loss. “It'll be fun! Like a rollercoaster with a really bad safety record. Seriously, though; these suits are built in part for orbital insertion.”

“In a pod!”

“We should be shielded through reentry,” Ruiz assured him. “Heat shields burn off the drop pod's hull and the casing blows clear at approximately five klicks up. From there the grav brake should kick in automatically.”

“Should?”

“That's enough bitching, Roddy,” Stanhope said. “Unless you've got a better idea? No? Alright. Doc; you ready to go?”

“As I'll ever be.” Esperanza shrugged off Chagan's hand and pushed herself up the wall.

“Roddy and Snake on point. Chagan with doc.”

Rodriguez and Ruiz moved forward warily, the one watching ahead, the other referring to the map in her HUD to keep them on track.

“You really can't think of a better plan than dropping out of an exploding Strogg cruiser and through the atmosphere?” Ruiz asked in a whisper.

“Nope.”

“We are so screwed.”


End file.
